


Love Thy Neighbour

by t_rickster



Series: Sabriel Week 2019 [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Drunk Gabriel (Supernatural), Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fluff, Gabriel is infuriating, Humour, Jealousy, Kinda, M/M, Mentions of Masturbation, Misunderstandings, Neighbours, Sam has had enough of his crap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-05
Updated: 2019-07-05
Packaged: 2020-06-15 01:33:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19600294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/t_rickster/pseuds/t_rickster
Summary: Sam really hates his new neighbour.Admittedly, Sam hasn’t really taken the time to get to know this new neighbour, but it doesn’t seem as though the guy cares. He seems more concerned with the endless supply of one night stands that he parades through his apartment every night. But when Gabriel starts wheedling his way into Sam's life, Sam finds it harder and harder to resist his charms. Maybe he should just consider moving.





	Love Thy Neighbour

**Author's Note:**

> Big thank you to [Fox](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FoxVII/pseuds/FoxVII) for the beta! She took my tired ramblings and made them pretty. 
> 
> Written for Sabriel Week Day 6 - Neighbours AU.

Sam really hates his new neighbour. 

Admittedly, Sam hasn’t really taken the time to get to know this new neighbour, but it doesn’t seem as though the guy cares. He seems more concerned with the endless supply of one night stands that he parades through his apartment every night. 

Sam first notices it when he’s locking up for the day on his way to class. He has an assignment due in a couple of days, and he’s all geared up and ready to make an early start when he hears it - a thump against the door behind him, followed by two voices - a low chuckle and a high-pitched giggle. 

Sam rolls his eyes and pockets his keys, intending to make himself scarce right up until the door squeaks open. Sam stops dead in his tracks like someone who’s witnessed a particularly horrific car wreck and can’t bring himself to look away. Except, no one’s in pain and the only one that’s suffering here is Sam and how the hell is that even fair? 

The neighbour barely pays Sam any notice, still evidently trying to fuse himself to his visitor - a leggy blonde with far too much make-up and not enough clothes. And, okay, Dean might have called him out on that one, but really it’s the middle of winter and _doesn’t she have any sense of self-preservation?_

It’s when he clears his throat that the pair finally come up for air. Sam opens his mouth to talk, but finds it just kind of hanging there because he’s not really sure what to say now that he has the guy’s honey-golden eyes locked onto his. At this point Sam’s willing to admit that the guy’s is kind of alright-looking. Bordering on attractive, even. 

(There’s a small voice that tells him that Sam finds the guy more than ‘kind of attractive’, but that voice can go screw itself right now, because it’s instantly become a Long Day and Sam really doesn’t need this shit right now.)

His neighbours’ lips are tilted into a cocky smirk as he regards Sam, which he finds is a vast improvement from where it was before -locked in a wrestling match with lips just as hungry - and Sam’s stomach flutters. He’ll make sure to not address that one later, thank you very much because if there’s one upside to being raised by Dean Winchester, it’s the ability to ignore his feelings until they go away. (Or gnaw at him from the inside, but it’s fine, he’s only hurting himself).

“You wanna join or what, kiddo?” the guy asks, his voice smooth like liquid and a little breathless, like he’s been underwater for way too long. It’s his own fault, Sam thinks to himself somewhat bitterly.

A beat passes, and Sam realises that he’s been standing with his mouth agape for far beyond what’s considered Standard Human Behaviour™. He forces himself to talk.“I— was just wondering whether to go back in and get the hose,” he splutters, pretending not to notice the red-hot flush prickling at his skin from his cheeks to the tips of his ears. 

With that, he dismisses himself quickly so that no one has the chance for a rebuttal. The laughter behind him rings in his ears regardless.

Gabriel, Sam finds out. His name is Gabriel. 

Not that Gabriel himself has bothered to share this information. Oh no. Sam’s never had a conversation with him beyond the one that they’d shared in the hallway. 

Instead, he hears it groaned against the man’s lips as he’s pushing a different woman - a brunette this time, around average height (much like Gabriel himself) - against the wall just outside Sam’s apartment. He lifts her up, her legs wrapping around him as she’s raised from the floor. 

Great, this is the last thing Sam needs when he comes home at night. He’s too tired to get into another debate with the asshole, so Sam just brushes past them and slams the door behind him. 

He tries hard not to think about how Gabriel’s clearly stronger than he looks, and definitely doesn’t think about exactly what Gabriel could do with that brute strength later that night, when he really should be sleeping. 

It’s not only women, Sam discovers. 

Three weeks into Gabriel’s tenancy in the building, Sam’s starting to get used to it. Really, he is. Doesn’t mean that it’s growing on him any - actually, the more often he and Gabriel have his run-ins, the more Sam wants to punch him in his smug, handsome face. 

(Shut up. Just because Sam can admit that he might be somewhat attracted to the guy, doesn’t mean that Sam has to like it - or that he has to like _him_.)

Anyway, this new guy’s pretty tall. Not as tall as Sam, but tall enough that Gabriel’s the one on his tip-toes and currently being slammed against the elevator door and enjoying it way too much for someone who’s in public. 

_Maybe that’s part of the thrill_ , Sam thinks bitterly. 

In any case, Sam’s got a seminar to get to and despite the fact that he usually takes the stairs, he’s feeling an overwhelming urge to take the elevator. So he clears his throat, and finally, the pair come up for air, and Sam may or may not nearly break the ‘close door’ button with the force with which he pushes it. 

The laugh that follows him through the closing doors is both mocking and makes his stomach flutter like he’s suddenly one of those teenage girls that Dean refers to when he’s talking about anyone getting emotional. 

He’s trying his hardest not to think about it. He’s _trying_. 

“Anyone ever told you that those pants don’t work for you?” 

Sam blinks, turning towards the voice in the hallway, and of course - _of course_ it’s Gabriel, standing at his doorway, jamming a lollipop into his mouth. What is he, twelve? 

“Anyone ever told you that it’s none of your business?” 

He gets a doubtful hum in response, and apparently Gabriel has absolutely no social grace whatsoever, judging by the way that he’s openly raking his eyes over Sam’s body like he’s an entire feast to be devoured. 

Sam rolls his eyes and begins to move towards the stairwell. 

“It is if I gotta see them every morning. You should wear the black ones more often. You know, the ones you wore yesterday? They really bring out your ass.”

Something in Sam boils over, and he stops in his tracks, whirling back to glare at Gabriel. “Alright, listen. It’s one thing that I need to see you basically dry-humping your way through everyone in the city on my way to and from class, but believe me when I say I’m not interested in being one of the notches on your bedpost.” 

That seems to shut him up.

For, like, a second. His lips slide back into that easy smirk, and Sam wishes that it didn’t give him butterflies.

“Hey, can’t blame a guy for tryin’, Sammo.” 

“I can if— wait. How the hell do you know my name?” 

Gabriel smirks at that. “I have my sources.” 

“Sources? What, are you stalking me?” Sam asks, his fight or flight instincts firmly sticking the needle in the direction of fight. He’s not beyond punching the lights out of a dangerous stalker. 

The stalker, however, just snorts in reply, leaning against his door frame. “Or maybe your brother came by lookin’ for you. Apparently he and— Lisa? Had a fight. He told me to tell you he needed you to call him.” 

“Well you can tell _him—_ ”

“Whoa, hey, look. I might be named after the Messenger Archangel, but I ain’t him.” 

“Coulda fooled me.” 

Gabriel barks out a laugh. “What’s that even supposed to mean?” 

“I— uh.” Sam stammers. Yeah, not his best comeback. He’s not thinking clearly. His brain’s scrambled and he’s all worked up and needs to get as far away from this guy as possible, because he’s infuriating and all Sam sees is red. 

Apparently that’s not exactly the signal that he’s giving off, though. “Y’know, you’re cute when you’re flustered.” 

Sam lets out a loud huff, goes into his apartment and slams the door behind him. 

(And this time he _definitely_ doesn’t think about Gabriel in the shower that night, fingers wrapped around his cock as he spills into his hand with Gabriel’s name on his lips.) 

His morning run is sacred; his way to blow off steam. 

And, okay, maybe he likes to keep in good shape too, but that’s something that he’ll take to his grave - especially if Dean asks. His brother already likes to tease him for his healthy habits - Sam’s not exactly looking to give him any excuses. 

It’s a good morning for jogging. It’s not too warm, and there’s a light breeze that’s just enough to cool him down when it picks up. It’s early, so there only other people in the park are either preoccupied with walking their dogs or are fixated on their own run. 

Sam’s in his own world, which is why he doesn’t really think anything of the sound of a pair of feet crunching in the path behind him. The sound seems to slow down for a few seconds, then pick up again, but who is he to critique someone else’s methods? 

It’s only when he hears a wolf whistle behind him that he really takes notice, almost tripping over his own feet as he skids to a halt and lets out an ungraceful _yelp_. 

“Lemme tell you, Sammich, those running shorts do way more for your figure than anything I’ve ever seen you in. You should wear them more often.” 

Sam closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, before turning towards the source with a disapproving frown. “Hello to you too, Gabriel.” 

Gabriel chuckles and Sam definitely does _not_ warm up inside when he takes note of the way that Gabriel’s eyes crinkle at the sides when he smiles, or the way his cheeks dimple ever so slightly. There’s a fluttering in his stomach, but he brushes it aside along with any feelings of fondness, because Gabriel’s still an asshole and Sam’s better than this. 

“Mind if I join?” Gabriel asks. 

It’s not like he can say no, not really. It’d be rude. And Sam was… okay, Sam wasn’t _actually_ raised better than this, but that’s beside the point.

So he just gives a stiff nod, taking off without a word.

He sets a swift pace, but Gabriel catches up to him fast. Sam might be a little impressed, but hell if he’s saying it out loud. Instead, he says, “Never took you for the running type.” 

Gabriel laughs, then - a loud, barking laugh that sounds more pleasant to his ears than it has any right to. “What, you think that it’s just marathon sex that keeps me lookin’ this good?” 

Sam looks, then. He knows he’s looking, but he can’t stop himself. Gabriel does look good, but he doesn’t exactly have the type of body he’d associate with a tough day at the gym. 

Gabriel doesn’t even bother to look insulted by Sam’s hesitation. “What, just because a guy doesn’t have the body of a Greek God, he can’t go for a run every now and again? Gotta burn off the candy I’ve been puttin’ away somehow.” 

“That’s not—” Sam starts, and then changes tracks. “I mean, you look gr—” Nope. Wrong track. He halts that train altogether, shakes his head and then starts again. “I didn’t say anything,” he grumbles. 

Gabriel barks a laugh, wags his eyebrows. “Tell you what. I’ll forgive you if you can keep up with me.” 

And then he’s off, and Sam barely hesitates before he goes running after him

Gabriel joins him a second time. And a third time. By the fourth, Sam’s grown to tolerate it. By the fifth, the seedling of a crush that Sam’s been harbouring has grown into a goddamn botanical garden and there’s not a hell of a lot that Sam can do about it. 

It becomes particularly more evident when Gabriel stops mid-run, and before Sam gets the chance to question him, he’s suddenly crouched on the ground petting a Labrador as if it’s the love of his life, and Sam’s chest aches with something that can only be identified as affection. 

And, of course, Sam being Sam, he can’t help but join him, because maybe he’s always wanted a dog. Or ten. 

“Dog person?” he asks once they’re back on the path, and Gabriel’s jogging effortlessly alongside him, barely a hint of fatigue despite the brisk pace that Sam’s set. 

Gabriel chuckles. “Yeah, I’d have like a billion of them if the complex allowed it.” 

“Man, me too,” Sam says, a laugh escaping him. “I had one for like a week. I ran away from home and I found a stray. Named him Bones.” 

Gabriel snorts. “Bones. Original.” 

“Hey, you laugh, but I nearly named him Dog.” 

That earns him another laugh. “So you were a runaway too, huh?” 

“Like I said. A whole week. Dad was—” he trails off, wondering whether he should be telling this to someone he barely knows, but Gabriel’s looking at him like he’s worthy of all the attention in the world and damn if Sam doesn’t want to hold onto it. “He had a drinking problem. Dean took the brunt of it, but it made him hard to deal with sometimes.” 

Understatement, but Sam doesn’t really feel like going there. 

“Sounds like a piece of work. For what it’s worth, my dad isn’t exactly stellar either.” 

“He tried his best, you know?” Sam says. “I mean. Sometimes his best wasn’t enough, and he really screwed up as a dad, but he really did try. Wasn’t easy after mom died in the fire.” 

There’s another silence and Sam regrets opening up so much almost instantly but Gabriel just replies with, “Wow, you win. My dad just wasn’t around.” 

“And your mom—?” 

Gabriel shrugs, slowing down in his pace then stopping, taking a long gulp from his flask. Sam stops beside him. “Never knew her. Dad wouldn’t talk about her. But hey, I got this far without either of them, so who cares, right?” 

“You said you ran away?” Sam asks. 

Another snort. “Yeah. Two years. I had just turned seventeen. Like I said, dad’s never around. Caused a lot of fighting between my brothers. I just— couldn’t bare to be around them. Only went back because of Cassie.” 

“Cassie—?” 

“Castiel. My baby bro. He’s gonna be a cop.” Gabriel practically grows heart-eyes, and Sam can’t help but smile. He reminds him of Dean a little, which… is a little weird, considering, but hell if he hasn’t seen that exact same look on Dean’s face when Sam’s talked about his grades, or flirting with a girl, or the first time that he tried pot-that-was-probably-just-oregano.

And fuck if Sam doesn’t fall for Gabriel a little bit more then and there. 

“You shoulda seen this girl. She was a solid ten. And the things she could do with her tongue—” 

“I don’t wanna hear it, Gabriel,” Sam replies, somewhat harsh. 

It’s been going on for a few weeks now. Since Gabriel’s started joining him on his morning run - because apparently that’s something they do together now - he seems to forever feel the need to fill Sam in on every single little detail of his clearly rampant sex life, and obviously basking in watching Sam fill up with rage. Asshole. 

All because he’s ‘ _cute when he’s flustered_ ’. Yeah, Sam hasn’t been able to get that one out of his mind either. 

“You, my friend, need to get laid. I can help you with that,” Gabriel retorts, and he doesn’t even need to look in Gabriel’s direction to know that he’s wagging his eyebrows in that stupid, adorable, sexy way of his. 

By this point, Sam knows that he’s pretty screwed as far as his behemoth-sized crush is concerned. It doesn’t mean that he’s planning on doing anything about it, it just is what it is. So what if Sam wants to press Gabriel up into the nearest wall and kiss that stupid, gorgeous smirk off his face? Or if he wants Gabriel to show him exactly how strong he is by manhandling him in the bedroom? 

Or maybe the other way around. He doesn’t even know. 

“Helloooo? Earth to Sam? You got anything goin’ on in that pretty head of yours?” 

Sam notices that they’ve stopped running. They’re now outside the apartment complex, and Sam’s just staring like some sort of creep. “Uh. Right. No. Yeah. I’m just— I’m gonna—” What he’s gonna do, though, he doesn’t bother to tell Gabriel, because he’s too busy making himself scarce and slamming the door behind him without so much as a backwards glance. 

Sam avoids Gabriel for a few weeks.

He checks before he leaves the apartment in the morning, and he lurks around the building when he returns in the evening, making sure the coast is clear before he bolts up the stairs. He even hovers in the stairwell a few times, making sure that Gabriel’s not outside his apartment with one of his… hookers, or whatever. 

Okay, hookers is a little harsh. He’s sure Gabriel didn’t pay for all the sex he’s been having. Guy like that could get laid all on his own merit. That fact doesn’t make Sam any less bitter. 

Might make him a little _more_ bitter, actually.

In any case, Sam’s efforts might as well have gone towards something more worthwhile. Gabriel seems no more willing to be in his presence than Sam is to be in Gabriel’s. He can’t help but wonder where he’s been. 

_Maybe he’s started spending his one night stands elsewhere._ That particular prospect doesn’t really help the rage curling in Sam’s gut, but there’s little he can do about that. 

It’s only on the third week of successful avoidance (and Sam’s not too proud to admit that he might be missing him a little, but only to himself), Sam finds Gabriel sitting outside his apartment, waiting, back against the wall. 

It throws him for a minute. He did his usual checks. Made sure that no one was around when he was entering the building, that the coast was clear in the hallway, and with the absence of the usual smacking of lips, he’d thought he was alone. 

“Gabriel?” 

“Hey, Sammo.” 

Sam’s tongue runs over his lips, and his mouth opens, then snaps shut again. It’s only after a few tries that he manages, “You look—” and then he stops, because Gabriel doesn’t look good. Anything flattering would be a straight-up lie. His hair looks matted, and his eyes are hooded like he hasn’t slept in weeks. 

That, and he reeks with the sharp tangy stench of what can only be described as _dive bar_. 

“Like I’ve been dragged through several bushes backwards?” Gabriel finishes for him. 

He’s about to lie - to say that it wasn’t what he was thinking, but there’s a quirk to Gabriel’s lips, and screw it, Gabe can handle the truth. “Well. I wasn’t gonna put it like that, exactly.” 

Gabriel snorts, and Sam notes the far-off, glazed-over look in his eyes and— yeah, he knows that look. “You’re drunk.” 

“You’re tall,” Gabriel replies, throwing his hands up in what looks like a vague attempt at finger guns. “’S’a good thing. Wanna climb you like a tree.”

Sam rolls his eyes. This, at least, he knows how to handle. 

“Alright, c’mon, let’s get you inside.” 

Hoisting Gabriel’s arm over his shoulders, Sam drags him up. He partly considers sending him into his own apartment for the night, but as much of a pain in the ass his neighbour is, he really doesn’t want to leave him to choke on his own puke. 

So he lets out a long sigh and leads the way into his own apartment, fumbling with the door to close it the best he can with an armful of Gabriel. He ends up kicking it shut and crashing Gabriel down on the couch. 

He lands with an _oof_ and Sam winces with guilt, but Gabriel doesn’t really seem to care. He’s too busy making himself comfortable - practically sinking into the plush cushions. 

“So this’s what the other side of the door looks like,” Gabriel pipes up, slightly slurred. 

Sam rubs the back of his neck. Suddenly he feels a little self-conscious, despite being the sober one here. “Uh. Yeah.” 

His apartment isn’t anything impressive. Just a simple all-neutral setup, barely a speck of colour to be seen. He’s never been much for the whole nesting thing. That’s more Dean’s deal, and he’s been doing a lot more it lately, slowly moving himself in as his relationship with Lisa deteriorates. The bright red pillows rested on his couch and the multi-coloured flannel throw draped over the back of it are his doing.

“So uh. Why were you outside my apartment?” Sam asks.

“What, I can’t come pester my favourite moose all of a sudden?” Gabriel’s making his best attempt to toe his shoes off but can’t seem to find where to loosen the knot on his laces. Sam sighs, kneeling down beside the couch to help him. 

“Well it’s not like you’ve been around lately,” he grumbles, tugging one shoe loose and then the other, dropping them gracelessly onto the floor. He’ll tidy up in the morning. 

To Sam’s surprise, the corner of Gabriel’s lips tug into a hint of amusement, and he lets out a quiet, barely-there huff of laughter. “Awww, you missed me, Sammich?” 

Sam ignores the flirtation. “Were you avoiding me?” 

“Yeah. Well, that, and moving. Really takes it outta a guy.” 

“Moving—?” 

“Apartments, Columbo.” 

Disappointment sinks in, and Sam shifts uncomfortably, before pulling himself up from the floor. “Oh, you’re— you’re moving? Already?” 

“Moved. Weeks ago. Couldn't really afford to pay for the apartment on my own. Dad’s place is huge, and it was only my baby bro left.” He snorts. “Don’t tell him I called him that, though. Likes t’ remind me that he’s an adult constantly.” 

“Well it’s not like I’m gonna see—” Sam pauses, and something in Gabriel’s expression shifts - as if he’s waiting for him to just ask. “Wait. So you don’t live in this building anymore? But why—?” 

“Oh, c’mon,” Gabriel cuts in. “Let’s cut the crap for a minute. There’s somethin’ here. You know it. I know it. Hell, the whole damn complex probably know it. So would you just go on a date with me already?” 

Sam’s lips thin. “First of all, you’re drunk. And I told you, not interested in being one of your notches.” 

But Gabriel isn’t listening anymore. His eyes are closing over, and he’s curled in on himself on the couch. Sam sighs again, heading into his own room to get some spare bedding for Gabriel. When he returns, Gabriel’s eyes are closed all the way over and his breathing’s evened out. Figures. 

Gently, he pulls the sheets over Gabriel and nudges him slightly. “Hey, Gabe?” A whine. Sam takes a deep breath and attempts to harness his annoyance, but he might shove Gabriel a little harder than needed.

Gabriel jerks awake.“Wha’--” 

“Pillows,” Sam says. “Move your head a sec.” 

Gabriel does, and Sam lays the pillows on the couch. Gabriel wastes no time in letting his head fall back onto them, his eyes closing over again almost immediately. 

Once he’s checked that Gabriel’s not in any danger of hurting himself and set a bucket next to the couch in case he needs to hurl, he’s ready to turn in himself, because to say this has been exhausting is an understatement. It’s only when he’s on his way into his own room that he hears the words, “Y’r not just a notch, f’r the record.”

Sam pauses, blinks, then turns back to look at him. He hasn’t moved. If Sam didn’t know any better, he could easily be fast asleep. “What?” 

“Y’r not— I like you, Sam,” Gabriel mumbles. “Wanna keep you around.” 

And just like that, Sam’s mood plummets. Because as nice as it’d be if Gabriel really meant it, Gabriel doesn’t seem like the type of guy to settle down. Why should it be any different for Sam?

He says none of this, because Gabriel’s way too drunk. He just lets out a huff of forced laughter. “Right. Sure, Gabe. Get some sleep.” 

The words turn over in Sam’s head as he tries to get to sleep that night.

Of course, he barely sleeps at all. 

When he wakes up, however, he’s hit with the smell of bacon and… something sweet in the air that he just can’t place. It’s enough to lure him into the kitchen, padding sleepily donned in only his sleep robe and boxers. 

Gabriel raises an eyebrow as he emerges, pan clasped in his hand. “You tryin’ to kill me or what?”

Sam just aims a tired glare in his direction. “I’m perfectly covered, thank you very much.” 

Or maybe he’s just too tired to go and change. Either way, it doesn’t seem like Gabriel’s about to complain. Besides, Gabriel’s clearly managed to shun his pants in the middle of the night, too. The only difference between them, really, is that Gabriel’s wearing a t-shirt.

He takes a seat at the counter, and Gabriel shoves a plate stacked with pancakes in front of him. _That_ , he realises, was the sweet smell. 

“How do you like ‘em? Eggs? Bacon? Syrup?” 

Sam lets out a groan that’s downright explicit, because yeah, he enjoys a salad, but pancakes satisfy his sweet tooth like nothing else. “All of the above.” 

Gabriel’s uncharacteristically quiet as he finishes off, sliding a few slices of bacon and a couple of eggs onto Sam’s plate, and then his own. 

When Gabriel’s raiding his cupboards to get to the syrup (and how the hell Gabriel knows where his syrup is, he has no idea) Sam can’t help but stare as his shirt rides up when he reaches above his height. 

And he can’t help but note that Gabriel looks at home in his kitchen. Sam wants to see more of it. 

But hell if he’s bringing up last night. Gabriel probably wants to forget about it. Sam can (probably not, but he can pretend to) do the same. 

“So, about last night,” Gabriel says, taking the stool next to Sam’s.

Sam startles, his mouth clamped around his fork as his insides turn to ice. Still, he manages to swallow it without choking on it, and Sam thinks that _that’s_ a feat in and of itself. 

The pancakes, of course, taste like heaven. Just the right amount of sweet without being too much, with the added bonus of being perfectly light and fluffy in all the right ways. 

Sam almost proposes then and there.

Instead, he manages, “We don’t have to talk about it.” 

“Yeah, we do.” 

Gabriel’s whiskey-golden eyes are piercing through his, and Sam nods somewhat shakily, because it’s all that he can manage. “Do you, uh, remember--?” 

“Every single word.” 

Sam ducks his head, warmth rushing to his cheeks. “Right. Look, I know you were drunk. It doesn’t mean--” 

“I meant it, Sam.” 

Sam’s eyes snap up to Gabriel’s. His expression is completely serious.

“R-really?” 

“Every single word.” 

His fork clatters onto his plate, but neither of them take notice. The air is thick around them, and Sam feels like he might lose it if he doesn’t get his hands on Gabriel _right now immediately_. 

Despite that, he doesn’t even know who moved first. All that he knows is that Gabriel tastes like syrup and coffee and his tongue can apparently work magic against Sam’s. It’s all rushed and desperate as though Gabriel’s been just as wound up about it as Sam is, and then it’s over all too soon, Gabriel panting short breaths against his lips. 

“You really mean it? I’m not just a notch?” 

Gabriel curls his fingers around the back of Sam’s neck, pressing closer with his entire body. “Not just a notch,” he echoes. “Wanna be with you. Get a couple’a hundred dogs together. What do you say?” 

Sam hums, sliding his hand under Gabriel’s shirt, because it’s unfair that Sam’s so underdressed right now and Gabriel’s still wearing one. “Sounds perfect.” 

(In the end, it doesn’t matter that Gabriel’s wearing a shirt, because it finds its way onto the floor along with the rest of their clothes somewhere between the now-cold pancakes and Sam’s bedroom.)

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! You can find me [here](https://archangelt-rickster.tumblr.com/) on tumblr.


End file.
